


Prisoners Bathtime

by AnonAutobot



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bath Time Seduction!, Dubious Consent, Kink Meme, M/M, Sticky, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3524474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAutobot/pseuds/AnonAutobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/3587.html?thread=6157827#t6157827<br/>REQ: (any verse) Megatron x Autobot; Kinks: Prisoner, Dub Con, Bath Time seduction!</p>
<p>It's pretty rare to find a shower/bath kink and this one's stuck in my brain.<br/>An Autobot prisoner needs a bath and Megatron drags the prisoner to his own personal rooms. Turns out that old Megsy is really good with his hands and has the Autobot moaning for him. Dub con :)<br/>(Did Megatron set this up or is he just taking advantage of a good opportunity? You decide)<br/>Any Autobot. Pick a verse, any verse and have fun!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yeah, i let my megatron/ratchet muse out to play again.  and playing on that medics have sensitive hands trope.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Prisoners Bathtime

**Author's Note:**

> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/3587.html?thread=6157827#t6157827  
> REQ: (any verse) Megatron x Autobot; Kinks: Prisoner, Dub Con, Bath Time seduction!
> 
> It's pretty rare to find a shower/bath kink and this one's stuck in my brain.  
> An Autobot prisoner needs a bath and Megatron drags the prisoner to his own personal rooms. Turns out that old Megsy is really good with his hands and has the Autobot moaning for him. Dub con :)  
> (Did Megatron set this up or is he just taking advantage of a good opportunity? You decide)  
> Any Autobot. Pick a verse, any verse and have fun!
> 
>  
> 
> yeah, i let my megatron/ratchet muse out to play again. and playing on that medics have sensitive hands trope.

“Medics hate being dirty.” Vortex suggested. He was sulking, having been told he wasn’t allowed to play with any of the prisoners. But Megatron still wanted his insight into the two Autobots that were in the cells of the Decepticon base at Tarn. That didn’t for a happy Vortex make. But he wasn’t going to disobey Megatron. Even he knew better than that.  
“And?”  
“Clean him.” Vortex explained slowly. “They’re filthy, and we’ve done nothing but leave them in the cells.”  
“Clean him.” Megatron repeated, as though he was finding it hard to believe that his toughest interrogator was suggesting he clean an Autobot prisoner.  
“Yup. It’ll throw him completely. And once he’s off-kilter, it’ll be easier to find out information.” Vortex shrugged. He’d used this sort of tactic before and it had worked perfectly. “Or do anything else.” He added with a smirk. Not that Megatron could see that. Thankfully.  
“Very well.” Megatron nodded, dismissing Vortex with a wave of his hand.

*\o.o/

Ratchet paced the small cell he’d been unceremoniously flung in. It was small and dark and dirty. Reflexively, he rubbed at the plating on his arms, as though he might actually be able to do more than smear the dirt marring it. He still couldn’t work out how they’d been ambushed; especially considering Jazz had been with him. It hadn’t even been a mission; he’d merely been moving equipment from one base to another. Part of him felt guilty that they were caught, as he had adamantly refused a guard. Except Jazz had come along anyway, saying that they couldn’t let the Autobot’s best medic out on his own in case he got lost. Well now they were both lost, and he wasn’t even sure if between them they’d managed to get a communication out. He certainly hadn’t, the shot that had clipped his side sending him careening out of control, forcing him to crash. After that, he didn’t remember anything else. Except waking up here.

A groan from the next cell alerted him to Jazz’s onlining.  
“Jazz.” He hissed, huddling against the door.  
“Nnnn…” Jazz groaned again before his systems rebooted fully. “Slag.”  
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I said. Are you okay?” Ratchet couldn’t scan him from where he was.  
“Dinged and dented.” Jazz murmured. “An’ chained up. Guess mah reputation precedes me.”  
“You’re lucky they didn’t just offline you.” Ratchet murmured, glad that they hadn’t. With Jazz online they stood some chance of getting out of here.  
“Nah, I’ve got too much valuable information. Speakin’ of which… Ratch’, remember the codes I gave you before we came out?”  
“Yes?”  
“Activate them.” Ratchet did so, feeling the code sorting through his systems.  
“Jazz!”  
“Gotta be done.” The code segregated and firewalled anything remotely important, leaving Ratchet feeling strangely bereft of knowledge. It was still there, he just couldn’t access it. Not without the passcodes demanded. He was effectively locked out of his own knowledge.  
“How the frag did you…”  
“I know it ain’t standard coding Ratchet, but it takes longer for mechs like Soundwave to get through. Means more chance of rescue.” Jazz cut in over Ratchet. “I managed to get a quick burst out to Mirage, but nothing more.”  
“So they know we’ve been captured?” Ratchet pressed, needing to know that there was a rescue on its way.  
“Probl’y. But as ta where we are? That’ll take longer for them to work out.” Ratchet slumped against the cell door. “But don’t worry, my team can do it.” Ratchet nodded, slightly reassured. Jazz didn’t mention that he didn’t even know where he was.  
“Okay.”  
“Now all we have to do is worry about what they have planned for us.”  
“Jazz… that’s really not the way to cheer a mech up.” That got a harsh bark of laughter from Jazz.  
“Keep that attitude up Ratch’, yer gonna need it.”

*\o.o/

Heavy footsteps announced the presence of Decepticons. Ratchet stopped pacing, and moved towards the back of the cell, not wanting to be too close to the door.  
“The medic.” That voice made the energon in Ratchet’s lines freeze. Megatron. And Megatron wanted him.  
“Not got Vortex to do your dirty work for you?” Jazz called out, trying to draw the attention away from Ratchet. He was ignored.  
“In this cell here.” Another voice, likely the guard, and the footsteps moved closer to his cell. Ratchet heard a code being inputted and the door locks retracting. As the door slid open, a little light flooded in, making him wince, having recalibrated his optics to see what he could in the dark of the cell. As he recalibrated his optics, he could see that most of the light was blocked by Megatron’s frame.  
“With me, medic.” Megatron’s tone left no room for disagreement and Ratchet stepped forward. As soon as he was close to the door, Megatron stepped back allowing Ratchet out. In short order, energon cuffs were slapped around his wrists and he was led out of the cell block.

*\o.o/

“I see no reason for you to have these on.” Megatron disengaged the cuffs. Ratchet stood frozen, unable to believe what was happening. Instead of being led to an interrogation room or similar, he appeared to be in someone’s personal quarters. Megatron’s personal quarters to be precise. Megatron stood and looked at him for a moment, and Ratchet really wasn’t sure what to think. Then Megatron turned and walked away, disappearing into another room, disengaging his fusion cannon as he walked. Confused, Ratchet didn’t know what to do. Should he try to escape? Should he stay still and await whatever fate Megatron had decreed for him? Processor made up, he headed for the door, unsurprised to find it locked. He started to hack the lock, pulling away the panel to access the wiring.  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Megatron’s voice might have been mild, but there was no mistaking the threat behind his words. Ratchet froze, fingers entangled in the wires. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, and he was firmly tugged away from the panel. He went easily – no sense in making things worse for himself.

Megatron pulled him into the other room, and Ratchet stopped still. In front of him were three different baths, as well as several wash racks.  
“Need to get you clean.” Megatron explained when Ratchet didn’t move. He pulled again, and Ratchet, still in shock, moved with him. He broke out of his daze as Megatron mechhandled him under a spigot, the cool water splashing down on his frame. He shivered, moving away, but Megatron pulled him back, holding him close as the spray rained down on both of them. Ratchet stayed still, well aware of how powerful Megatron was. He was no match for the warlord, and Megatron likely knew that. Pit, even Prime was hard pressed to defeat Megatron. So he stayed under the water that was now, thankfully, beginning to warm up.

Ratchet jumped at the feel of a soft cloth on his plating. Megatron was… cleaning him? Actually cleaning him. Ratchet knew Megatron had said about getting him clean, but he hadn’t realised the Decepticon was going to do it himself. He pulled away from Megatron, but only succeeded in pressing against the wall. The rumble from Megatron completely threw him. Where was the torture? Where was the interrogation?  
“What are you doing?” He asked, voice trembling just a little.  
“I would have thought that obvious.”  
“Why are you cleaning me?”  
“Because you’re dirty.” Megatron stopped, tipping Ratchet’s chin up to look at the medic properly. “Would you rather stay dirty?”  
“Depends what you’re planning on doing after you’ve got me clean.” Ratchet retorted. Megatron laughed, a sound Ratchet didn’t think he would hear. And somehow, that was scarier than all the threats he’d heard Megatron make.

Megatron didn’t answer him, but turned him around, scrubbing in earnest at the dirt on Ratchet’s frame. It reminded him of a time before the Decepticons, before the war. Back before his gladiatorial days, when he was a simple miner. Then, he would shower and scrub with his fellow workers, all of them joining in to get each other as clean as they could before the water ran out. Here though, there was more than enough water, and Megatron found he was taking his time in cleaning Ratchet, half lost in his own memories. 

Ratchet stood stock-still, joints locked, half-afraid to actually move. Megatron was actually cleaning him. And more than cleaning him, he was taking the time to get as much dirt and grime out of his joints as he could. Little by little, he found himself relaxing into the touch, the gentle swish of the cloth over his plating as Megatron wiped away the dirt. The harsh spike as a wire brush dug into his joints, cleaning away the grease and grime that had accumulated there. The smooth motion as the dirt was swept off his frame revealing his paint job once more. It felt good.

Megatron turned him around again, concentrating this time on the front of his chassis. Ratchet let out a small moan as the cloth was worked into the rubber of his windscreen. As soon as he realised he’d moaned, he was mortified. Megatron just shot him an amused look as he repeated the action. Ratchet tensed, unwanted feelings shooting through his systems. Megatron continued washing him, cleaning all the dirt from the journey and the cells from his plating. Once his chest plating was done, Megatron stepped back, turning away from Ratchet long enough to get a fresh cloth. Ratchet stayed where he was, torn between staying and letting himself be thoroughly cleaned (and really, how long had it been?), or escaping. The fact that he wouldn’t be able to overpower Megatron made the decision for him. By the time he’d come to this realisation, Megatron had turned back to him.  
“Arm up.” He reached for Ratchet’s left arm, taking a firm grip of Ratchet’s wrist. Ratchet had no choice but to obey, lifting his arm up so Megatron could comfortably clean it. Which he proceeded to do, cleaning Ratchet’s upper arm first, moving slowly down the arm. When Megatron reached his wrist, Ratchet jerked, glancing up at him. Megatron met his gaze and grasped his wrist more firmly to stop Ratchet moving again. Ratchet kept silent, optics focussed on Megatron’s hand as it moved the cloth over his wrist and down onto his hand.

It was torturous; the feel of the cloth brushing across all the sensors on his hand. When Megatron turned his hand over and swept the cloth over his palm, Ratchet whimpered.  
“Problem?”  
“No.” Ratchet shook his head, not wanting to anger Megatron. But frag it, didn’t the mech know medics had specialised sensors in their hands? Evidently not, he realised as Megatron wrapped the cloth around one finger and pulled. Ratchet let out another moan. Megatron merely raised an optic ridge, a strange smile on his face. Ratchet didn’t like that one bit, but that thought fled his processor as Megatron captured another finger, working the cloth along its length. Ratchet moaned, staggering a little as pleasure rushed through him. Megatron immediately stepped closer, moving his hand from around Ratchet’s wrist to around his waist. Ratchet leant against him, systems swarming with arousal. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Everything about the whole situation was wrong. There was no way in the Pit that Megatron should be arousing him like this. And with Megatron this close, he could feel the power of the Decepticon leader’s systems.  
“There is something wrong...” Megatron’s voice sounded… a mix between confused and amused. And was that a tinge of arousal Ratchet could detect? He really hoped not.  
“Nothing’s wrong.” Ratchet snapped back, pulling away from Megatron. Megatron let him move, watching him. Ratchet leant against the wall, paces away from Megatron and out from the spray of the water. He offlined his optics, trying to calm himself down. He really didn’t want to be getting aroused around Megatron.

*\o.o/

Vortex leant against the wall outside Jazz’s cell.  
“Megatron’s got your medic.” He called out. Jazz, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer him.  
“He should be cleaning him right now.” Inside the cell, Jazz stiffened. What sort of torture was that?  
“I know, not really what you’d consider torture. Would have been better to leave him dirty. Medics hate being dirty.” Vortex continued, not minding that Jazz wasn’t responding. He knew the mech could hear him.  
“’Course, didn’t tell him how sensitive medics could be.” Vortex paused, allowing Jazz to digest the information. “Especially on the hands.” He could hear the energy chains crackle as Jazz moved.  
“Do you think he’ll take advantage?” Vortex purred. “Do you think he’ll clean Ratchet’s hands so well that your medic gets so aroused he jumps Megatron himself?”  
“Fragger.” Finally, a response from Jazz. Vortex laughed.  
“Worried about him?” He taunted. “You know… you tell me something good, and I can disturb him.” Vortex offered, pushing away from the wall so he could look through the door at Jazz.  
“I’d be more worried about Megatron.” Jazz shot back. Though, in truth, he was worried about Ratchet. He knew exactly how hedonistic the medic was. And he knew exactly how sensitive Ratchet’s hands were. And how aroused he could get by a little hand play. And likely how horrified Ratchet would be by the whole situation. Once of course he’d overloaded and calmed down. It was those thoughts that worried Jazz more than anything.

*\o.o/

Megatron snorted as Ratchet tried to tell him there was nothing wrong. He had optics, and a basic sensor suite. He could tell that the medic was beginning to run hot. And not because he was low on coolant.  
“I think perhaps that there is something.” He stepped closer, blocking Ratchet against the wall. “And I think I can help you with that.” Ratchet onlined his optics in shock as Megatron came closer and _purred_.  
“Frag off.”  
“No.” Megatron shook his head and reached out, grasping Ratchet’s wrists and tugging him back under the spray. “I’m going to finish cleaning you.”  
“And if I don’t want you to?” Ratchet struggled in Megatron’s grip.  
“I don’t think you have a choice. Besides, you were enjoying yourself earlier.” Megatron pointed out, much to Ratchet’s embarrassment. He had been enjoying having somemech clean him. Especially as thoroughly as Megatron had.  
“That’s not the point!” Ratchet tried to protest, but he did slow his struggling.  
“Oh, but it is.” Megatron took advantage of Ratchet stopping struggling to reach for a fresh cloth. “There is much pleasure to be had in being clean.” Ratchet didn’t put up a fight as Megatron reached for his other arm and started cleaning again.

(at this point, megatron is all ‘come to the dark side, we have showers’)

Ratchet’s shoulders slumped as he gave into Megatron’s demands. Putting up a fight was beyond him when his systems kept reminding him just how good that cloth felt on his plating. He moaned as Megatron scrubbed at his upper arm with the cloth, the dirt flaking off his plating.  
“How can one mech get so dirty?” Megatron murmured, half question, half chastisement.  
“We’re in a war. I don’t always get enough time to give myself a thorough cleaning.” Ratchet answered before he was aware of doing so. Megatron tutted, but said nothing more, moving down to Ratchet’s lower arm. Ratchet twitched as Megatron moved further down, rubbing the cloth across his palm. He kept his optics focussed on Megatron’s hand, missing the glance Megatron shot him. He whimpered as Megatron wrapped the cloth around each finger in turn, drawing it up slowly to make sure all the dirt came off.

Then Megatron knelt down. The sight of the Decepticon warlord on his knees in front of him was more arousing than Ratchet would care to admit. Megatron exchanged the cloth for a brush and started scrubbing at Ratchet’s feet. The care and attention he was lavishing on Ratchet’s plating was something the medic hadn’t had for a long time. In fact, the last time had been that time when Wheeljack had managed to cover them both in unrefined energon when he was experimenting. His engine revved as he remembered that shower, and the fun that had come after it. Megatron looked up at him, optics dark and unreadable. He worked his way slowly up Ratchet’s leg, making sure the knee joint was thoroughly clean before moving up Ratchet’s thigh. Ratchet unconsciously spread his legs a little, giving Megatron more room to work. Megatron made a pleased sound, moving the cloth over Ratchet’s thigh in long smooth strokes. As he moved closer and closer to Ratchet’s pelvis, Ratchet wasn’t sure what to do. Should he stop Megatron? Would he even be able to? But Megatron just brushed the cloth onto his pelvic plating and stopped, turning to work on the other leg. Ratchet let out an almost disappointed sigh.

Ratchet lost himself in the rhythm of Megatron’s movements, the scrape of the brush across his plating, followed by the smooth glide of the cloth. Megatron was similarly lost to his movements, focussed on his task, almost forgetting it was an Autobot he was cleaning, now more thinking of Ratchet as a willing participant. He smoothed the cloth up Ratchet’s leg, revealing white plating underneath the dirt. He gave a pleased rumble at the sight of it, shocking Ratchet into looking down at him. Megatron didn’t move, concentrating on cleaning more of the plating. As Megatron moved further up his leg, Ratchet tensed. The sensations alone were pleasing him, and the thought of Megatron cleaning his interface panel was… not actually an unwelcome thought. And wasn’t that a disturbing thought?

All thoughts however fled out of Ratchet’s processor as Megatron’s hand rested on his interface panel. Static charge prickled at his fingers, making him smile as he looked up at Ratchet. Ratchet looked a little horrified as he heard the static jump to Megatron’s fingers.  
“I think there is most certainly a problem.” He smirked, rubbing Ratchet’s panel gently, causing the medic to moan.  
“Only if you keep doing that.” Ratchet gasped, stopping himself from pushing against Megatron’s hand. Megatron laughed again, standing up in one smooth motion and pressing Ratchet against the wall.  
“And what will you do if I do keep doing it?” He asked, voice a low purr as he cupped Ratchet’s panel. Ratchet did buck forward into Megatron’s hand at that. Again, Megatron laughed, pulling away even though he’d had no reply from Ratchet. Not that Ratchet was sure he could have given a coherent reply. At the firm touch of Megatron’s hand on his panel, all his interface systems had primed. He was almost relieved when Megatron pulled away. Almost.

Megatron left Ratchet leaning against the wall. He moved to the oil bath, turning the temperature up a little before testing the temperature. Perfect. He glanced back at Ratchet, optics taking in the now clean frame and the way Ratchet was leaning against the wall. He’d felt the static charge as he palmed Ratchet’s interface panel. He knew the medic was aroused. Question was, should he take advantage of it? It was quite unlike him to be so indecisive, but if he wanted the medic to tell him anything, then forcing him against his will would not be the way to go about it. But still… he had to admit that Ratchet presented a pleasing image, and made the most interesting sounds. Standing up again, he made his way back to Ratchet. The medic onlined his optics as Megatron came close again.  
“I’m clean.” He muttered.  
“So you are.” Megatron liked the spirit in this one. He reached for Ratchet’s wrist, tugging him away from the wall and towards the oil bath. Ratchet pulled back, trying to stop himself from being moved.  
“I can carry you easily.” Megatron raised an optic ridge at Ratchet.  
“I don’t want you ‘pampering’ me for whatever sick reason you’re doing this.” Megatron snorted.  
“I shall do as I wish, and there is little you can do to stop me.” He told Ratchet, pulling firmly and sending Ratchet stumbling towards him. Megatron easily picked him up, despite Ratchet’s struggles, and carried him to the oil bath. He stepped in and lowered Ratchet into the warm oil. The contented gasp Ratchet couldn’t help but make made it worthwhile.

(‘come to the dark side, we also have oil baths’)

Megatron sat down, pulling Ratchet against him. Immersed in the oil, Ratchet couldn’t find it in himself to struggle. The oil seeped in all his joints, warming and easing them. The warmth he could feel coming from Megatron’s frame was an added bonus.  
“Enjoying yourself now?” Megatron murmured against Ratchet’s audio. Ratchet stiffened a little as he realised his position – effectively sitting on Megatron’s lap.  
“And if I am?” He asked carefully. He was enjoying himself. This was certainly better than any torture.  
“Then I am pleased.” Megatron rumbled, letting his hands play over Ratchet’s frame. Ratchet didn’t move, didn’t dare ventilate as Megatron caressed him as one would a lover. What exactly was going on? Fine, yes, Megatron’s cleaning had gotten him aroused, but did Megatron honestly think that would mean he would interface with him?  
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked.  
“Enjoying myself.” Megatron smirked, pulling his hands away from Ratchet temporarily. Despite the warmth of the oil, a chill stole over Ratchet’s plating where Megatron’s hands had been. He huffed, shaking his shoulders out to try and dispel the feeling. Pushing away, he turned around to look at Megatron. The bath was deep enough that he could kneel comfortably on the bottom and still have his head above the oil.  
“Why are you doing all this?” Away from Megatron and those talented hands, he was able to think a little more clearly. Not much mind you, given the arousal already fogging his processor. But a little more clearly.  
“Cleaning you?” Megatron asked, reaching out for one of Ratchet’s hands.  
“Yes.” Ratchet cut himself short as Megatron took hold of his hand. He tried to tug his hand away, but all he succeeded in doing was making waves in the oil; Megatron had far too tight a grip on his hand for him to do anything without risking injury.  
“As I’ve already said, because I can. And because I am enjoying it.” As he spoke, he turned Ratchet’s hand over, satisfied the medic wasn’t going to pull away. Spreading Ratchet’s fingers gently, he rubbed his thumb on Ratchet’s palm. Ratchet made a noise suspiciously like a squeak. Megatron smiled.

As Megatron massaged his hand (because that was really the only way Ratchet could describe exactly what Megatron was doing), Ratchet relaxed once more, systems ramping up in arousal. He squirmed a little, but didn’t make a move to pull away. Which surprised him when he realised it.  
“Problem?” Megatron smirked, pulling Ratchet close again when he didn’t receive an answer. Ratchet moved with a soft moan, oil rippling past his plating. Megatron pulled him back onto his lap, wrapping his arms around the medic to hold him still. Ratchet didn’t put up a fight, leaning back against Megatron, letting the Decepticon hold him, the warm oil relaxing him.  
“Much better.” Megatron loosened his grip, running his hands down Ratchet’s arms, pausing at his wrists almost as though he were waiting for Ratchet to move again. Ratchet didn’t move. Megatron continued on, taking Ratchet’s hands in his and rubbing his thumbs across the open palms. Ratchet shuddered and let out a moan, the warm oil finding its way under all the sensitive plating on his hands. Megatron’s systems rumbled in response. Ratchet’s interface panel snicked open.

The sound, to Ratchet, of his panel opening was deafening. He shrank back against Megatron, strangely comforted by the large frame. Megatron felt more than heard Ratchet’s panel opening, and he dropped one hand away from Ratchet’s hands to press against the medic’s array. Ratchet arched, moaning and pushing himself almost wantonly against Megatron’s hand. Megatron purred, crooking a finger to rest again Ratchet’s valve. Even with the oil, he could feel the lubricant seeping from it.  
“Why doctor, I do believe you have a problem.” He murmured against Ratchet’s audio, his other hand still stroking Ratchet’s hand. Ratchet moaned again, spreading his legs and canting his hips towards Megatron’s hand. Megatron obliged, sliding one finger into Ratchet’s valve, causing yet another moan, this one low and satisfied. Moving his finger, Megatron could feel the way Ratchet’s valve rippled around it. He pushed in another finger, loving the way the medic reacted. Ratchet shuddered, dropping his head back against Megatron’s shoulder, lost to the pleasure; Megatron’s fingers massaging his hand, Megatron’s fingers in his valve. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Megatron was a Decepticon, only that he was here and willing.

Ratchet moved his arm, wrapping it around Megatron’s neck, giving himself a little bit of leverage. He rose up, pushing his hips towards Megatron’s hand, letting out a moan. Megatron echoed the moan, pleased with Ratchet’s response. He pumped his fingers in and out of Ratchet’s valve, feeling the lubricant on his fingers mixing with the oil. Ratchet shuddered, the oil seeping into his valve, warming it in a different way to the burning arousal coursing through him.  
“Frag…” He muttered the curse, dropping back down into Megatron’s lap, grinding against his fingers. His spike extended into the oil, creating a small current that Megatron could feel. Megatron promptly dropped his hand to wrap around Ratchet’s spike. Ratchet moaned, twisting his head to mouth against Megatron’s neck cables. That surprised Megatron – he hadn’t expected such an… enthusiastic reaction.  
“I definitely think you’re enjoying yourself.” He teased, pumping Ratchet’s spike a couple of times, smirking at the way Ratchet’s hips tried to follow his hand. Ratchet let out a whine as Megatron removed his hands, gripping his waist and raising him up a little. Megatron moaned as he opened his own interface panel, spike pressurising immediately. He hesitated only briefly before lowering Ratchet slowly down onto it.

Ratchet made a low, pleased sound as Megatron’s spike filled his valve. Megatron’s hands gripped his hips, tightening as the warlord succumbed to his own pleasure. When Megatron’s spike was fully seated in Ratchet’s valve, Megatron let out a shaky ventilation. Ratchet however, didn’t let him stay still for too long, circling his hips and moving on Megatron’s lap, one hand still gripping the back of Megatron’s lap. Holding him in place, Megatron thrust up, prompting a guttural moan from Ratchet. The oil in the bath warmed noticeably around them, sloshing gently against them as they moved. It was gentle, and nothing like Ratchet would have perhaps expected. Not that he’d been expecting this.

Megatron pressed one hand against Ratchet’s windscreen, holding him in place and reached for one of the medic’s hands with the other. Hand captured, he proceeded to spread the fingers out and tickle the palm. Ratchet’s valve clamped down on his spike in response. Ratchet canted his hips, moving Megatron’s spike in his valve. As Megatron massaged his hands, stroking up the fingers, smoothing oil under the plating, Ratchet’s rocking movements sped up as he headed towards overload.

And then Megatron stopped, the hand on his windscreen pressing firmly, stopping him from moving. Ratchet whimpered.  
“Hush…” Megatron murmured almost soothingly, hands grasping Ratchet’s hips, lifting him off his spike. Ratchet whined, hands scrabbling against Megatron’s, trying to force him to let him go so he could sink back down on that wonderful spike. It didn’t faze Megatron, who pushed Ratchet off his lap, turning him around before pulling him back. Ratchet rose automatically as he found himself back on Megatron’s lap, letting Megatron’s spike slide back in his valve. Megatron groaned as his spike was enveloped in warm wet heat once more. He reached for Ratchet’s hands, holding both of them almost reverently before smiling wickedly at Ratchet. He raised Ratchet’s hands out of the oil, pulling them close and venting cool air across them. Ratchet shivered, valve clenching around Megatron’s spike. Megatron’s optics darkened in arousal and he boldly took one of Ratchet’s fingers in his mouth, hands gripping the wrists to stop Ratchet from pulling away.

Pulling away was the last thing Ratchet wanted to do. He wanted more, and certainly wasn’t afraid to get it. Not now. Not with Megatron sucking on his fingers like that. He shifted, rocking his hips and forcing Megatron’s spike deeper in his valve, building himself back up to overload. Which, with Megatron’s glossa curling around his fingers, was going to happen quickly. Megatron watched Ratchet, watched the way his optics flickered offline, the curve of the smile on his face, feeling a sense of satisfaction that it was him doing this to the medic. Then Ratchet’s valve rippled, a telling sign of a mech close to overload, and he dropped Ratchet’s hands in favor of clamping his own back on Ratchet’s hips, thrusting up, determined to overload the medic.  
“Look at me.” He commanded, watching as Ratchet’s optics snapped back on. He wanted the medic to know who had made him overload. He thrust deep, pulling Ratchet down to meet his thrust, and the medic howled in overload, back arching as charge crackled across his plating, dispersing into the oil. The feel of Ratchet’s valve clamping hard around his spike sent Megatron over into his own overload. He grunted as he shot his transfluid into Ratchet’s eager valve, pulling the medic close to claim a kiss. Ratchet didn’t resist, systems lax as he recovered from his overload. He rested his head on Megatron’s shoulder, venting deeply to try and cool his systems. Megatron purred, pleased.

*\o.o/

”Fragger.” Megatron knew the exact moment that Ratchet regained his senses. The medic cursed, pushing against his chest plating and pulling himself off Megatron’s spike. He flailed briefly in the oil before he gained his footing.  
“You took advantage of me.” He spat at Megatron, optics narrowed as he stared at the Decepticon leader. Megatron shrugged.  
“You didn’t say no.” He pointed out, lounging in the oil.  
“Slagging, rusting misclocked son of a glitch, don’t you know how sensitive medics’ hands are?” Ratchet snarled.  
“I do now.” Megatron smirked, and Ratchet made an inarticulate sound of rage, wading towards the edge of the bath. He hauled himself out, and stood there for a moment, oil dripping from his plating. Megatron admired the view before standing up and getting out.  
“You _raped_ me.” Ratchet hissed at him, backing away as Megatron walked towards him.  
“I did not. Or were you so aroused you had no processing power left?” Megatron taunted him, stepping closer and closer. Ratchet growled at the implication. He hated having to admit that he’d been so overcome with arousal that it hadn’t mattered who he’d interfaced with.  
“Fragger.” Ratchet repeated the curse, glancing over his shoulder as he backed away. Megatron took that opportunity to rush him, grabbing his arm and spinning him to pin him against the nearest wall. Ratchet grunted as his back hit the wall.  
“If you think you’re getting any more, you’re sorely mistaken.”  
“I think that I will do whatever I want.” Megatron smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. He knew how to get past the medic’s defences now.

*\o.o/

Jazz strained at his chains as he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his cell. Vortex had long grown bored when Jazz had ignored him. Jazz surmised that Vortex hadn’t actually been given permission to do any form of interrogation, so he hadn’t been able to force any sort of information out of Jazz. Even telling him that Megatron had Ratchet to try and make him give up information to save the medic hadn’t worked. Jazz hated that part of his job; that he had to allow others to undergo interrogation instead of him. Though, by all accounts, it was a strange sort of interrogation. But still, knowing that he could have stopped Ratchet from going through all that didn’t make it any easier to live with himself. But the information he had could conceivably cripple the Autobots. Needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. And how he hated that expression.

The footsteps grew closer, and Jazz could identify which were Ratchet’s. And he didn’t like the sound of them. Ratchet sounded like he was dragging his feet. Jazz hoped the medic wasn’t too badly injured. When rescue came, he didn’t want to have to try hauling Ratchet out. However, as the guard and Ratchet came past his cell, he could smell overheated metal and ozone. Damn. The guard opened the door to Ratchet’s cell, ushering the medic in before leaving.  
“Ratch’?” Jazz called out.  
“What?” Ratchet’s voice was tired and hoarse.  
“You okay, my mech?”  
“Still functioning, aren’t I?” Ratchet didn’t exactly answer the question, and Jazz felt his spark sink.  
“What did Megatron do to you?”  
“Nothing I couldn’t have stopped him from doing.” Ratchet answered, sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor. “Nothing I couldn’t have stopped…”


End file.
